Chapter 34 #3
Something in her tone made me think she'd seen her share of tragedy. Of marriages that didn't survive the reality beyond the ceremony.
"Do you, Quentin Vanetti, take Julia Sofia Russo to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"
I looked at Julia. At the woman who'd lied about her identity and then come clean. Who'd faced assassins with me. Who was about to fly into her brother's territory to defend me. Who'd somehow become the most important person in my world.
"I do," I said, my voice steady.
"And do you, Julia Sofia Russo, take Quentin Vanetti to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold, for better or worse, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"
Julia's eyes were wet, but her voice was strong. "I do."
"The rings, please."
I took Serenity’s borrowed band.
"Repeat after me," Judge Martinez said. "With this ring, I thee wed."
"With this ring, I thee wed." I slid the silver band onto her finger. It spun a little, too large, imperfect.
Perfect.
Julia took my hand—we didn't have a ring for me, but she held my hand between both of hers.
"With my heart, I thee wed," she said, going off script.
Judge Martinez smiled—small but genuine. "Close enough."
She picked up her stamp, pressed it firmly against the marriage license. The sound echoed in the small room. Official. Legal. Real.
"By the power vested in me by the state of Utah, I now pronounce you husband and wife." She looked at me. "You may kiss your bride."
I cupped Julia's face, thumbs brushing away tears, and kissed her.
It wasn't our first kiss. Wasn't even our best kiss. But it was different somehow—weighted with meaning, with promises, with the knowledge that this was no longer just about attraction or strategy.
This was forever.
When we broke apart, Julia was crying openly now. "We're married."
"We're married," I confirmed.
"Congratulations," Judge Martinez said, already turning back to her paperwork. "Next couple, please."
And just like that, we were ushered out, legally wed, clutching our marriage certificate like a winning lottery ticket.
In the hallway, Serenity threw her arms around Julia. "You did it! You're married!"
"I'm married." Julia looked dazed. "To Quentin. I'm married to Quentin."
"Buyer's remorse already?" I teased.
"Shut up." But she was smiling through tears. "This is the weirdest day of my life."
"Wait until tomorrow when you have to convince your brother not to murder me."
"One disaster at a time."
Stone motioned to the marriage certificate. "Get copies. Multiple copies. One for your attorney, one for each of you, one in a safe deposit box."
"Romantic as always," I said.
"I'm practical. There's a difference." But then he did something unexpected—he smiled. Small, brief, but real. "Congratulations. Try not to screw it up."
"That's the most sentimental thing you've ever said."
"Don't get used to it."
We walked out of the courthouse into late afternoon sun. The chill air bit through my jacket, but Julia was warm against my side.
"Mrs. Vanetti," I said, testing out the name.
"That's going to take some getting used to."
"We have time."
"Do we?" The question was quiet, vulnerable.
I stopped on the courthouse steps, pulled her close. "We do. I promise."
"You can't promise that."
"Watch me." I kissed her forehead. "We survive Carlo's meeting tomorrow. We plan a wedding that catches a killer. We prove your father's murder wasn't my fault. And then we have the rest of our lives to figure out what being married actually means."
"When you put it that way, it sounds almost manageable."
"I'm an optimist."
"You're delusional."
"That too."
She laughed, and the sound loosened something in my chest. We'd gotten married in a courthouse with a borrowed ring and a judge who had another couple waiting. We were flying into danger tomorrow. Someone was actively trying to kill us.
But right now, standing on these steps with afternoon sun on our faces and a marriage license in my pocket, I felt something close to happiness.
"We should celebrate," Serenity said, coming up beside us. "Dinner? Drinks?"
"Both," Julia decided. "Definitely both."
"I know a place," Stone said. "Italian. Private room. Good security."
"After last night's restaurant incident, maybe somewhere less... shootable?" I suggested.
"Fair point." Stone considered. "My place, then. I'll order in. We can go over tomorrow's plan while you two pretend you're not terrified of meeting Carlo."
"I'm not pretending," Julia said. "I'm genuinely terrified."
"At least you're honest."
We piled into Stone's SUV—married couple in the back, witnesses up front. Surreal didn't begin to cover it.
Julia's phone buzzed. She glanced at it, tensed. "It's Silvio."
"What does he want?"
She read the text, her face paling. "He heard. About the wedding. He's asking if I've lost my mind."
"What are you going to tell him?"
"The truth." She started typing. "That I'm marrying you tomorrow at the courthouse—" She looked up. "Wait, we already did that. Today. We're already married."
"Legally married," I corrected. "We still need to do the small family wedding. The one that's actually a trap."
"Right. So many weddings. I'm losing track." She deleted what she'd typed, started over. "I'll tell him we're having a ceremony in New York. That he's invited. That it's real."
"He's going to hate me."
"Probably. But there’s nothing he can do about it now."
She hit send. "Hopefully."
Her phone buzzed again almost immediately. She read it, frowned. "He wants to meet. Tomorrow morning, before we fly out."
"Why?"
"He says—" She scrolled. "He says if I'm really marrying you, he needs to make sure you're 'worthy of a Russo.' His words."
"That's not ominous at all."
"He's protective. It's actually kind of sweet… if I wasn’t suspicious that he’s been trying to kill me."
"Sweet isn't the word I'd use."
"He won't hurt you. Probably."
"Your confidence is overwhelming."
Stone glanced in the rearview mirror. "You should meet with him. Better to have him on your side when you face Carlo."
"Assuming he decides I'm worthy," I muttered.
"You are worthy," Julia said firmly. "You jumped in front of bullets for me. You're investigating my father's murder. You married me in a courthouse with a borrowed ring." She held up her hand, where Serenity's silver band caught the light. "You're definitely worthy."
"We'll get real ones before the New York wedding."
"When?" Serenity asked. "You fly out tomorrow. Meeting Carlo at seven. That doesn't leave much time for ring shopping."
Julia's eyes widened. "She’s right. We need rings. Real rings. The family will notice if we show up without them."
"Tomorrow morning," I decided. "I’ll ask the jeweler to open early for us. We’ll meet Silvio in my office before the airport. We'll make it work."
"This is the most stressful wedding planning ever," Julia said.
"We're doing it on hard mode," I agreed.
“Okay. I’ll tell him nine at your office.” She sent the text.
Stone pulled up to his house. A beautiful craftsman style home in a quiet neighborhood. "Come on. Let's eat, plan, and try to keep you two alive long enough to enjoy being married."
As we waited for Stone to put in his security code, Julia leaned against me. "Thank you."
"For what?"
"For making today special. Even in a courthouse. Even rushed. You made it matter."
"It does matter." I kissed the top of her head. "You matter. We matter. Everything else is just details."
"Details like my brother potentially murdering you tomorrow."
"Minor details."
She laughed, tired and genuine. "I love you."
"I love you too, Mrs. Vanetti."
"Say it again."
"Mrs. Vanetti."
"I think I like it."
"Good. Because you're stuck with it now."
We followed Stone and Serenity into the house, legally married, terrified of tomorrow, but somehow, impossibly, happy.
It wasn't the wedding I'd imagined.
But it was ours.
And that was enough.
∞∞∞
Later that evening, after we'd eaten takeout at Stone's place and gone over the plan for meeting Carlo, Julia and I sat on a swing in his backyard surrounded by a beautiful garden, complete with a mini waterfall. The moon and stars glittered in the sky, but my mind was on New York.
"Tell me about your family," Julia said quietly. "The ones who stayed in New York."
I gathered my thoughts. "Not everyone came with us when my father moved the business to Salt Lake. My uncle Riccardo and his family chose to stay. They got out completely—went legitimate with hotels and real estate. Built the hotel, La Stella and a few other boutique properties in Manhattan."
"Your father was okay with that?" she asked.
"Dad understood. After what happened to his parents—after watching them gunned down in their own home—he couldn't blame anyone for wanting distance from that life.
Riccardo took his kids, Emilio and Gina, and built something clean.
Something legal." I paused, staring at the moon. "Sometimes I envy them."
"Really?"
"They get to wake up without wondering if today's the day someone comes for revenge. Without looking over their shoulder. Without—" I gestured helplessly. "Without all of this."
Julia was quiet for a moment. "But would you trade it? Really?"
"No," I admitted. "This life made me who I am. For better or worse."
"For better," she said firmly. "Definitely for better."
Silence settled between us. I studied her profile in the moonlight, realizing how little I actually knew about the woman I'd married this afternoon.
"Sofia," I said quietly.
She turned to me, questioning.
"At the courthouse. When the judge read your full name—Julia Sofia Russo. Were you named after someone?"
She stiffened slightly, wrapped her arms tighter around herself, and just nodded.
I waited. The neighbor's dog barked somewhere beyond the fence. A car passed on the street.
"My mother. She was killed when I was two," she said finally.
Her voice was flat, careful. "A hit. Filomena raised me after that.
My father started listing my name as Russell—thought it would keep me safe.
" She laughed, but there was no humor in it.
"Didn't keep me out of his world, though.
I spent my whole life trying to earn the Russo name back. Took this job to prove I could—"
Her voice cracked. She stopped.
I moved closer. Rested my arm along the back of the swing. Not touching her yet, but close enough that she'd know I was there.
"And I failed," she whispered. "I couldn't even do that right."
She let out a shaky breath. "I was supposed to kill you, Quentin. That was the job. Prove myself by—" She stopped, shook her head. "And instead, I married you in a courthouse."
"I can't say I'm sorry you failed."
She looked at me then, something almost like a laugh escaping. "No. I guess you wouldn't be."
"Since it brought you here," I continued, reaching for her hand.
She let me take it, and slowly—carefully—she leaned into my side. I wrapped my arm around her.
"Is that what we're calling it? A failure that worked out?"
"I'm calling it the best thing that could've happened." I pulled her closer. "To both of us."
Above us, the moon was almost full. Tomorrow we'd be on a plane to New York. Tomorrow we'd walk into her brother's world and ask for mercy we might not get. Tonight, the garden felt like the only safe place left.
“And now you’re married to me."
Something shifted in her expression. Softened. "My husband."
"My wife."
The words felt too big. Too strange. Too right.
She reached up and kissed me—gentle, testing, like she was asking a question. I kissed her back, and for a moment, the danger waiting in New York felt far away.
When we pulled apart, she stayed close, resting her head against my chest.
"We're really doing this," she breathed.
"Yeah," I said. "We really are."
Whether she meant the marriage or tomorrow's meeting, I didn't ask. Maybe they were the same thing.